


Desolation

by DearlyStar



Series: End Times [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Death, Depression, Despair, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, Loss, Murder, Shock, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearlyStar/pseuds/DearlyStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear someone toasting. There is cheering, and the clink of glasses. Happy excited chatter fills the room. Why are these people celebrating? The world is over. Put out the lights and leave. The brightest lights in my world are already extinguished." Remus hears the devastating news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desolation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final piece in the End Times series of one-shots. This time, it's Remus's point of view, when he hears about not only the death of Lily and James, but of Peter and the imprisonment of Sirius. This was the hardest to write for me from an emotional standpoint. I had to have a shot of whiskey after finishing it. Please enjoy, and comment if you feel so moved.

There is nothing left to burn; no oxygen left in the air, nothing to sustain the inferno that has consumed the world. Because there is nothing left. Nothing at all. 

I cannot process what I am hearing. 

“Did you hear? About the Potters-”

“Right shame, but now…”

“Yes! He’s gone for good!”

“Only little Harry Potter survived.”

The chattering in the pub is overwhelming, but the words slam into me full force, knocking the wind out of me. I feel my tongue go dry, my mouth must be open. I’m in the middle of a nightmare. That is the only explanation. A waking, lucid night terror that will end. I’ve had these before. 

It’s always been my fear. With the war against Voldemort, we all knew that we could be killed, that it was likely some of us would be. Especially those of us in the thick of things, like me and Sirius. But somehow, after they went into hiding, I thought that Lily and James were nigh untouchable. The very last time I saw them, they said that they would be out of sight for a while. They couldn’t tell me how long, just that they would be somewhere safe, for Harry’s sake. My heart twisted for them. Parents shouldn’t have to hide their child, or go invisible to the world to keep the family safe. But I understood all too well. Isn’t that what I’ve lived my life doing? Keeping myself in isolation, under the radar, slipping through cracks and speaking in whispers, for fear of being found out for what I really am? Because what I am is something that doesn’t deserve to be let out, to live with normal people. I’m a danger to everything and everyone around me. 

I didn’t understand, at the time, why they didn’t tell me where they were going. But I understand now. They suspected me. Or, if not suspected me, thought I couldn’t keep the information safe. But they suspected the wrong person. And now, I’ll never see them again…

Suddenly, it feels like someone is stabbing me in the chest. It feels like I deserve it. I gasp in pain; real, physical pain. I nearly collapse onto the floor of the pub. I catch myself on a chair. I feel someone sitting me down. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth. It feels like it might choke me. Some part of me wishes it would.

I can still see them clearly in my mind. James, on our last Order mission together, before they went deep into hiding. His black hair a mess, smiling that lazy, supremely unconcerned smile; his carefully practiced devil-may-care attitude firmly in place under the streetlights of London. He stopped taking missions almost two years ago. Because, he said, he had a responsibility to his son to stay alive. But he never stopped fighting, even when all he could do was offer me a hot drink and hospitality after a terrible night. Lily, with her jewel-bright eyes and flaming red hair, a vivid pane of stained-glass, lit from within in a weary, gray world. Her kindness, her fierce determination to support the effort, her beautiful face that she wore as effortlessly as a breath in and a breath out. I remember her just beginning to show, the halation of future motherhood surrounding her and filling her with life and joy.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear someone toasting. There is cheering, and the clink of glasses. Happy excited chatter fills the room. Why are these people celebrating? The world is over. Put out the lights and leave. The brightest lights in my world are already extinguished. 

 

My lungs still aren’t working properly. My head is reeling. I think I might actually faint. I stare at my feet. Somewhere, against the background of sound, someone is making a choking, wounded sound. The faint blackness around the edges of my vision phase in and out. It’s like the world is on fire. While I’m choking on smoke, these people are celebrating its demise. 

There is a buzzing, static sound from somewhere to my left. Someone’s brought a radio. I hear the whirring of a dial, unable to focus on anything else. An announcer’s voice comes into sharp reality, and what he says feel like a needle through my eardrum.

“... has just announced that the fugitive Sirius Black has been arrested…” 

I hear someone shout. “SHUT UP. EVERYONE, SHUT UP.” It sounds like a snarl and a howl and a whimper. I’m suddenly on my feet. I realize after the fact that it’s me shouting. The pub goes dead silent. The only thing that exists is that radio. No sights, no smells, no other sound than the sound of that voice, that gods-awful voice.

“...Black was arrested for the murders of no fewer than twelve muggles, and one wizard, who has been identified Peter Pettigrew, although the remains…”

The world spirals out of control. Horror floods me like ice water, drowning me, stiffening my joints and causing gooseflesh everywhere. I phase out, but back in for the final words of the report:

“... seems that he is the one who betrayed the Potters. The investigation is ongoing, as members of magical law enforcement-”

Those are the final words, I make sure of it. I stagger my way to the table, pull out my wand, and the radio explodes into a thousands pieces, and is torn to dust midair. 

As the dust that was once a radio settles, there is total silence. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Nobody blinks. What does it matter, if they hate me now? They hate my kind already. What is one more reason to think I’m crazy? 

I blindly stagger toward the door, and head back out into the cobblestone streets of Ilkley. I can’t even remember why I was here. It doesn’t come remotely close to mattering anymore, if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead, anyway. It’s nothing to the terrible earthquake that has shaken my life beyond all recognition. 

I see Sirius’s face in my mind. How could he have done what they say he’s done? James was our brother. Peter was our brother. The betrayal slices through me like a sword. I never saw it coming. I can still see Sirius barking a laugh at some joke or other, feel him slapping me fraternally on the back, feel the warmth of his hands. His elegant profile, his swaying, confident walk. I can see Peter’s sheepish grins, his unsure movements, his encouraging words. 

Something in my mind cannot reconcile this. It’s a permanent break from reality; it’s an atomic winter on the landscape of my memories. Nothing about this could be right. But it is, it has to be. Otherwise, none of this makes any sense at all. Sirius was deadly, capable, determined. Peter stood no chance, none at all. Anger surges through me. I should have seen this, should have been there. Maybe I could have saved someone. Anyone. Seen Harry at all, to comfort him after Lily and James were cruelly ripped from this world. How long had this been going on? How could I have overlooked it? Did my need to fit in, to be liked and feel appreciated cause me to miss something? To tuck a strange coincidence out of the way, in favor of saving my image in the eyes of my friends? It wouldn’t be the first time. My thoughts grow bitter, and I choke on them. I wish I could asphyxiate on them. 

Without thinking, my aching thoughts turn back into all of their faces. I can see them all, school-aged, confronting me about what I am. I can feel the fear of my twelve-year-old self, and the resignation I swallow, sure I am about to become a pariah once more. The astonished, grateful, tearful feeling when they say that I’m ridiculous for not telling them sooner, so they could have figured out a way to help me. I feel the elation of my fifth-year self when we finally figure out the way to stop me from being alone during the full moon. Suddenly, the celestial orb that I had hated for so long became the very beacon of adventure.

I can feel all of them with me, all of us in fur and antlers and paw pads, pacing the forests and grounds of Hogwarts, and for the first time I am not alone in that painful time. 

How could they leave me like this? I have nobody else. I never will. I am untouchable, among my own community. People who find out what I am leave, or turn their backs. They refuse to accept me. James, Lily, Sirius, Peter. They were the first people who didn’t leave, who stayed, who cared. But there will be no more love, no more family, no more home. Not for me.

I sink against a wall in an alley. I have no idea where I am. It doesn’t matter. It matches the inside of my head, all grey, bleak, peppered with rank puddles and rust. A fitting backdrop for my utter grief. My kind was never meant for anything better anyway. I wring myself inside and out until I don’t have any more sounds to make, or tears to cry. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing will bring them back. I am alone in a desert, while muggles walk back and forth on the sidewalk, unaware that the storm has passed and wiped all things worthy away like a cataclysmic flood. All that is good is gone, and all that is left, is me, here, on this earth.

Alone.

A desolate place for a desolate soul.


End file.
